


Out of Hell, We Will Climb

by cadkitten



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Casual Sex, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Doubt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8491633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: There are days when Jason thinks it will never stop. Days when he's curled up in enough blankets that it should stop his shaking. But it doesn't.There are times when he thinks perhaps everything is okay, that he's moving forward, progressing away from the past. Moments in time when he's just happy and can simply exist in the manner he thinks everyone else does. Sometimes it's one minute. Sometimes it's a month.
  And sometimes he thinks he'll never see those times again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For JayRoyWeek on Tumblr. Day 5: PTSD  
> I made myself so upset with this I couldn't even cry. I'm shaken to a level I can't really explain. Maybe having PTSD, I should have known it would do this to me, but I never expected... this. It has hope, but it's a hard path. If you have PTSD, be aware this could very well trigger you.  
> Beta Readers: kate1zena  
> Song[s]: "Out of Hell" by In This Moment

There are days when Jason thinks _it will never stop_. Days when he's curled up in enough blankets that it _should_ stop his shaking. 

_But it doesn't_.

There are times when he thinks perhaps everything is okay, that he's moving forward, progressing away from the past. Moments in time when he's just _happy_ and can simply exist in the manner he thinks everyone else does. Sometimes it's one minute. Sometimes it's a month.

_And sometimes he thinks he'll never see those times again._

When he wakes up in his closet, the doors closed shut and barricaded from inside, he understands that _some days will be worse than others_. When he can't sleep at night for fear of what his dreams will bring him, he does his best to see that _one day_ it will all be okay.

 _Or at least he tells himself that_.

Sometimes he wakes up tucked in someone's arms, their warmth around him better than any blanket could ever hope to be and he's actually _rested_ for what feels like the first time in months. It's those times that he thinks to himself that _there's hope in this world_.

_That not everything is bleak and gray._

The moments he finds himself standing over another man he's wiped the city free of, he wonders if he's becoming the _monster_ they all said he would or if he's just doing what they can't. And when he closes his eyes, he can hear their words:

_Monster. Failure. No son of mine. Hopeless._

When he kneels before the altar at the church down the street from his single-room apartment, he understands that sometimes we all turn to faith. He never thought he'd be here, that he'd let the tears stream down his face as he begs for forgiveness, as he asks for direction in this life. 

_And when he leaves, he knows this too will take time._

As he stands holding a small trembling girl, the only survivor of nine, the stench of death surrounding him, he knows he's born witness to another _hopeless case_. Just like he was, just as scared, just as fragile. He thinks to himself it's been a long time since someone _else_ thought he was fragile. 

_But the truth is, that's what he is. What he's always been._

She won't let his hand go, even when he tries to turn her over to GCPD and he just can't understand _why_. He questions himself for the hundredth time. Is he really the monster they believe him to be? 

_Or is he someone's savior, if only for today?_

Her father comes to get her and he _knows_ those eyes. He knows there's a tattoo hidden beneath his sleeve and he knows how this man tastes in the midst of desperation, the flavor of alcohol on his tongue and cigarettes on his breath. 

_And he thinks to himself... sometimes life has a funny way._

When she still doesn't let go, he understands. This is his answer. This is his salvation and his path. And when the guy remembers him, too?

_Jason is sure he just might die._

The moment he first wakes up inside someone _else's_ closet, he finds he's less terrified than he's ever been in the aftermath. When he lifts himself up off the floor, he finds it in him to go back to bed. 

_For the first time in a long time, Jason thinks there might be hope._

As he holds _his_ hair back, late one night in the bathroom, Jason understands that everyone has their demons. 

_Just some chase slower than others._

The first time he hears _the words_ , he thinks to himself that _someone_ can see past the monster. Someone can see who he _really_ is. When he says them back, he does it without looking away, without lying, and that... that has to be _something_.

_He hopes like hell he's right._

When he finds her shaking, trembling in the corner of her closet, he _understands_. He sits down with her and tells her there's _hope_. Wiping her tears away, he doesn't lie to her, doesn't tell her everything will be alright. He tells her it'll be a hard road ahead but that she'll never be _alone_.

_And, God, he has to have the faith to believe that._

So when he finds himself kneeling in that church in his old rundown neighborhood, he knows this is how it will always be. He found his path, but now he prays for her to find hers. He begs and he pleads and he lets the tears cascade down his cheeks without regard. 

_Because sometimes someone else's pain is worse than your own._

When he goes home and he finds himself wrapped in _his_ arms again, he doesn't stop the way he breaks. There's only so much one man can bear. And when he hears it, it's _more_ than the other words have ever been. It's more than _I love you_ and it's more than _you are not alone_. 

_Out of hell, we will climb._

In these few words, he finds everything he's ever needed. He finds faith. He finds hope. And when he feels the smaller arms slip around his waist, he _knows_.

_This is what home feels like._

And he never wants to let it go.


End file.
